


never fallen from quite this high

by dansunedisco



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Time, Jon & Sansa Are Married, Jon Snow knows something, Oral Sex, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 08:36:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7525849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dansunedisco/pseuds/dansunedisco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa reached down to tangle her fingers in Jon’s hair, unsure of if she wanted to press him closer or shove him away.</p><p>-</p><p>Or: the working document of this was titled 'Jon Snow knows something, and that's how to go down on a lady'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	never fallen from quite this high

**Author's Note:**

> title from ['ocean eyes' by billie eilish](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=viimfQi_pUw).
> 
> 99.9% smut w/ feels and romance
> 
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Sansa reached down to tangle her fingers in Jon’s hair, unsure of if she wanted to press him closer or shove him away; she’d heard whispering of such acts--giggling girls recounting tales in hushed, excited words when they thought Sansa wasn't listening--but it had hardly sounded enticing or at all desirable.

Now, with Jon’s mouth between her legs, she could see why they talked about sex as something exciting, as opposed to something merely endured. She gasped, face flushed what she was sure an unflattering red, as Jon licked at her center; she could feel his fingers pull her apart, exposing her, the tip of his tongue working gently at the bundle of nerves she'd always passed over when she washed herself. He worked in small circles at first, clockwise then counter, each pass sending a shiver up her spine. It felt _good_ ; so good that she felt like she was drowning in the moment, like she wasn’t herself any longer. So good that she couldn’t bite back a breathy “ _Oh_ ” when he hit a specific spot, her fingers clenching involuntarily in his curls. He groaned against her, not stopping his movements at all, and she dropped her hold as if he’d scalded her.

She murmured out an embarrassed, “Sorry,” but Jon’s hand darted up to her wrist, and he brought her grip back to his hair: _it’s fine, I like it._ He looked up when she merely petted him, mouth shiny and wet and _obscene_. “Go ahead,” he assured her, “I don’t mind.”

“Okay,” she said, liquid heat pooling between her legs as she settled back, closing her eyes to focus solely on the apex between her legs where Jon still worked at her diligently. She felt Jon panting harshly through his nose, his bitten off groans trembling through her in intervals; she felt his hands flex against her thighs, rocking her slowly up to meet his mouth.

It was intoxicating. When curiosity got the best of her, she pushed up onto her elbows only to meet Jon’s heart stopping gaze. His eyes, usually sad and serious, burned with heat. She should look away, she realized. She shouldn't meet his eyes, but she was trapped; slack-jawed and captivated by the immense pleasure she saw reflected back at her. His hair was askew, curls messier than usual, and heat throbbed in her stomach when she realized it must have been her hands to have made it so. She tipped her head back, eyes shut, and let the heat build-- no longer embarrassed about the noises she made, echoing through the chamber. This was natural, so natural.

She lost herself in feeling, pulled under the shroud of pure pleasure, and she came to when something incredible and foreign started to build inside of her, between her legs and in her spine. She shifted against Jon’s mouth, clenching the muscles in her legs; she barely recognized her voice when she breathed out a confused, “Jon?”

He ministrations tapered off, and he pulled off to give her a gentle kiss to her hipbone. “What is it? Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head. “No, quite the opposite,” she admitted shamelessly; whatever trepidation she’d felt about the letting Jon between her legs like that had melted ways long ago. “But, um-- it started to feel--”

The spot between his eyebrows creased, all concern. “Too much?”

She sat up, confused. “I don't know.” He inched up, too, onto his knees.

“Were you close?”

She flushed, suddenly feeling like the biggest fool there was. “Close to what?”

“Close to coming,” he said. There was no judgment in his voice, but she noted a distinct tremor that belayed his pending anger. Indignation on her behalf. “Your peak.”

Sansa didn't know how to respond. Sex, in her experience, was-- not something she'd ever thought she would ever want. She knew the machinations, obviously, and she'd heard the chattering of the southern court girls who’d expounded on it, but-- her peak? Whatever he was doing to her felt like pure magic already. “I'm not sure what you mean,” she admitted.

And there it was, the ripple of anger crossing Jon’s face like a stormy cloud. She reached for the coverlet, the wisps of heat inside of her extinguished like she'd been doused with ice water, but Jon only surged up to his knees to pull her into a kiss: the first one they've shared tonight. It was a gentle one, and sweet, but the current of strength lingering underneath made her gasp against his mouth.

He’d been holding back for her, she realized; his kiss said he wanted her, more than words could convey, but the way his hands held her-- it said he was taking his time. Going slow. For her. She was made dizzy and over warm by the thought, and she reached up to clutch desperately at his shoulders as he kissed her. “Let me show you,” he murmured against her lips.

She opened her eyes, searching his. She trusted no one in the world more than Jon; her protector, her hero. The one she’d missed desperately, the one whom she’d wanted so badly to see again. He was the only one to ask her what she'd wanted, when the Dragon Queen demanded a marriage to close the tattered, frayed ends of the North; he’d promised to find another way, sad and serious as he’d leaned against the writing desk by the hearth, pouring over tomes and texts Sam had produced in a desperate bid to protect Sansa from, once again, needing to marry against her will. His concern for her, above all else, had been the answer she'd needed. Who else was there for her, but him? “Then show me,” she answered, trying to smile as nerves fluttered in her stomach.

Jon kissed her again, and again; each time more needy than its precursor. The quiet embers of her pleasure flared again into a flame, and again, Sansa was astonished at how easily she burned for her husband.

She parted her mouth for him, and his tongue, and when she tasted herself, she moaned; the taste was nothing like she'd ever experienced, a tangy flavor she couldn't quite place.

“Do you like-- doing that?” she asked, when Jon moved to kiss at her neck.

“I could kiss you forever,” he said, voice dark and husky, and when she explained she’d meant what he was doing before, he laughed mirthlessly against her skin. “Aye, I could do that forever, too.”

He moved down her body once more, and this time, when she felt his cock slide against her stomach, she shuddered in anticipation. He parted her folds, and pressed a gentle kiss at her bud before placing the flat of his tongue on her and working at her, slowly and gently, until she was pressing her heel against his shoulder blade with unbidden cries. This time, when she felt that familiar and strange buildup, she let it come without fear. She whimpered, hands fisting in the sheets as Jon worked her higher and higher. “I-- I can't--” she gasped, feeling simultaneously overstimulated but unable to tip over the mountain she'd been made to climb. She was ready to call an end to the torment, leave it for another night, when she felt Jon tug her hips up higher, and then slide a solid, strong finger inside of her. There was no pain at the entrance, and the feel of him moving against her was almost enough to shock her into silence-- that was, until he crooked his finger and rubbed at something inside of her that made her entire body relax and her eyes blur, and suddenly she was soaring on a high she'd never experienced, head thrown back in a silent scream. Jon worked her through it, finger and tongue stroking at her delicately as she shuddered and gasped wordlessly through her peak. When it became too much, she gently pushed Jon’s head away and pulled him up to cover her body with his.

“Gods, Jon,” she said, capturing his mouth into another smoldering kiss. “That was-- well, I can see why they call it a peak. I felt like I was flying.”

Jon blushed, which Sansa thought very funny, considering how he was naked as the day he was born and he’d quite literally ravaged her within an inch of her being. “I'm glad you liked it.”

She nudged him over to lie next to her, feeling happy and loose; _young_. “I’d heard about it before, and always thought those girls were completely mad to-- to even entertain it,” she said. She bit her lip, glancing down Jon’s body, thinking of reciprocity. Despite all they'd done, she was shy to ask for what she wanted next; instead, she pushed him onto his back and moved over him.

“We don't have to,” was Jon’s answer, stroking a gentle hand against her side. He was hard against her hip, holding back on his own desires yet again.

“No, we don't,” she agreed, “but I want to.”

He kissed her for a while longer, seemingly content to leave it at that; it she felt that telltale sign of arousal stirring inside of her, and she tried to convey her feelings on the matter as subtly as she knew how. They’d exchanged positions again-- her on her back, him blanketing her. She arched against him, pressing her breasts against his chest and hooking her thigh around his hip to act as a guide. But no matter how she tried to place him, Jon made no move to enter her. The frustration was almost as good as his mouth on her had been-- a slippery slope that seemed to have every touch between them burn all the hotter. And he did touch her, now, in earnest. His fingers traced his ribs, the smooth skin under her breasts; his thumb brushing against her nipples, slow, frustrating gestures that only threw more kindling on the flame that was her desire.

She wanted to speak, to demand he take her as he wanted, but the words were stuck in her throat: she wanted to voice her desire, what she wanted Jon to do to her--for her-- but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Finally, she pulled away from Jon’s mouth--which, she noted with pride, where pink and wet; though surely she looked just as debauched-- and grabbed the hand petting her side. She pressed it flat against her, holding him in place. “Jon,” she breathed, hoping him to take pity on her, but he did nothing more than press another open mouthed kiss to her collarbone. She caught the end of a smile, and flushed. “You mean to tease me.”

He stilled against her. “Don't you-- I mean-- don't you like it?”

She kicked his backside with her heel, like she was spurring a particularly disobedient mount into action. “I'm going to burn up from desire if you don't _do_ something,” she hissed, and held him fast, as she sensed he was planning on traveling down to take her apart with his mouth once again. “I need you.”

She took his hand, the one she'd kept pinned, and drew it between her legs. He hissed as he touched her, fingers slipping easily between her slick folds. “Gods, Sansa,” he said, voice thick, “you're so wet.”

She shuddered at his words, and the feel of his finger dipping into her entrance-- almost shy, tentative-- broke her apart in the sweetest way. “For you, my lord,” she said, finally finding the confidence to voice her thoughts; she pulled him down for another kiss, sighing against him as he gently rocked two fingers into her and began to rub at that spot inside of her that felt otherworldly. He worked her higher and higher, and when her peak was upon her, she let it crash over with a muffled cry against Jon’s shoulder. She felt wonderful, and satisfied in a way she'd never known was possible.

She blinked up at Jon-- _her husband_ \-- and gave him a smile; he looked mesmerized by her, and she felt such a strong wave of affection for him in that moment that she knew the years to come would be more than just a marriage of convenience, a marriage of tolerance. She loved him; more than she thought possible to love someone. She drew her knees up and tilted her hips, licking her lips when she felt his hardness slip between her.

“Are you sure?” he asked, that worried crease between his brows back in full force. She answered him by reaching between them and guiding him home, into her. She'd been expecting pain, or a mild discomfort at the least, but she found only a brilliant stretch. He rocked into her with a bitten off moan, as if he was unable to hold back the twitching of his hips, and she tucked her knees around him with a breathless, wondering, “It doesn't hurt.”

He dropped his forehead to her collarbone and began to thrust into her in calm, measured strokes. “Aye, it shouldn't,” he choked out, one hand coming around to cup the back of her neck, the other slipping under her shoulder. He blanketed her body, the smooth, heated parts of his body warming her against the faint chill in the room. His pelvis ground against hers, catching against that bundle of nerves that had brought her so much pleasure before, and before long, she was riding that same upward slope to her peak.

Jon pressed kisses against her mouth, the pace of his strokes picking up in speed and force. The strength of it all had Sansa gripping at the muscles in his back, head thrown back into the mattress as he sucked a bruise on to her neck, shoving tiny, helpless cries from her mouth. She prayed no one was around to hear, for the sounds she was making were far from prim and proper. Suddenly, just as she was about to drop into the precipice once more, Jon stilled inside of her with a gusty breath, and she felt warmer and wetter--realizing with a mix of shock and pleasure that he'd just spilled inside of her. At once he rolled off her and replaced his cock with his fingers. She was about to protest--a third time was hardly necessary; _one_ time was unnecessary--but he worked that spot in her once more, and her body went loose and her knees dropped open, splayed wantonly, and now she knew how to move and when to clench against his fingers, and it was the thought that he was working his seed inside of her that ultimately had her coming for the third, final time that night. She shattered, rippling around his fingers, and she reached out clutch at his arms blindly, desperately.

Afterwards, Jon drew a bath. The water steamed heavily in the chilled room, and Sansa sank into the heavenly water with a sigh. Her body ached already, muscles she didn’t know she possessed sore. She skimmed her hands above the surface of the water; her reflection rippled in the gentle wake. She hardly recognized the happy, smiling girl that stared back at her.

Jon came to sit next to her, and reached out to caress the side of her face. “How are you feeling?”

She closed her eyes, and leaned against his hand. “Never better,” she said, realizing with a start that her words were rather true. Although her life had taken many turns away from the path she had imagined for herself, so many years ago, what she had now was-- good. She would give almost anything to go back to the beginning, to shake sense into the young girl she’d been, to be less trusting in the pit of vipers she'd found herself in at King’s Landing-- but she couldn't, and there was indeed comfort knowing that Jon would be the one she would spend the rest of her days with. She loved him, yes; and she didn't think it would take very long at all to be _in_ love with him. She was already well on her way.

She slept soundly, her dreams fuzzy and pleasant, and woke feeling like she’d worked her body into the ground. Jon’s hand was resting lightly on her stomach, and he tugged her tighter against him when she shifted forward; all that did was bring her backside closer to his pelvis, where she found him hard and ready. Her heartbeat quickened, discovering that she really wouldn’t mind having him inside of her again. She nudged her hips back carefully, laughing lightly when she felt Jon jerk awake; freezing for a moment before rocking against her with a pleased hum.

She reached down to lace her fingers into his. She felt safe; loved. “Good morning,” she said, tipping her head back. _Yes,_ she thought; she was well on her way indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr is here if ya wanna drop a line](http://tchallafalcon.tumblr.com/)


End file.
